


The Basilisk

by mhamiltonwrites



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhamiltonwrites/pseuds/mhamiltonwrites
Summary: In this short adventure, Arthur attempts to slay a magical beast threatening the borders of Camelot, but his sword seems powerless against the creature's scales. Can Merlin provide magical assistance without giving himself away?
Kudos: 7





	The Basilisk

**Author's Note:**

> This piece originally featured as part of a Merlin fanzine. It's my first time writing in this fandom, so I hope I've captured the characters. It was a lot of fun to write, and I may return to write a longer piece or add more to a collection of Merlin-related works at a later time. Thanks for reading!

The crow flapped its wings lazily, riding misty air currents as it swooped low over the emerald treeline. It was quiet up here, away from the wooded dangers below. After all, the forests of Albion can be hazardous; who knew what manner of creature might dwell in its dappled depths? The crow certainly didn’t, and so was content to spend its days as far away from it all as possible.

It settled briefly on a high branch, ruffling its feathers against the autumn chill. It had been a long morning’s flight down from the high hills to the tree line; it would be good to rest and regain some of its strength.

Its rest would be short-lived however, as the branch of the tree it had landed upon began to shake as if caught in a gale. The whole tree was shaking now, and the sounds of battle began to emanate up through the canopy of leaves from the forest floor below; the crash of steel, the raised voices of men, and the cries of some awful beast. The crow squawked, angry at the disturbance. The tree shook again, far more fiercely this time as something huge collided with it. The crow heard an awful creaking, then a crack like lighting around the forest. Its branch began to sag, the entire tree beginning to tumble, felled by some unseen force.

Dismayed, the crow took off once more, desperately flapping its wings in a flurry of feathers and twigs. It seemed it would have to take its rest elsewhere.

Down in the forest, two men stood before a snarling, scaled creature. It was huge, bigger than a carriage, with its leathery wings outstretched. It walked on a pair of muscled legs each armed in turn with a pair of wickedly sharp talons. Behind, a tail that coiled like a python twitched and danced, itself topped with a curled spike that had already gouged down several of the surrounding oaks. Finally, a long, scaled neck ended in a razor-edged beak and a set of malevolent yellow eyes that glared out at the pair of humans daring to interfere with its hunt. Behind it, the tree it had just felled with a strike from its barbed tail crashed to the ground, mud and leaves cascading around it like an autumn storm. 

Merlin glanced over at Arthur. This was going badly. The creature’s scales had proven impervious to even the mightiest blows from Arthur’s sword, and Merlin didn’t fancy the young knight’s chances of surviving a strike from the thing’s claws, even with his armour on. “I think maybe retreating might be a decent plan here, sire,” he called, eyes still set on the snarling monstrosity.

“If we do that, we leave everyone travelling through the woods at the mercy of this thing,” Arthur replied, jaw set like granite. “Besides, there’s a chance it’ll make straight for the castle gates as soon as we’re gone. You really want to put everyone in Camelot’s life in danger?”

“Obviously not, but right now you don’t seem to having much luck!”

“Just you watch, Merlin! I promised my father I’d kill this monster, and I intend to keep that promise!” With a final shout, Arthur launched himself towards the creature once more, sword flashing like a sudden sunbeam in the forest’s gloom.

Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t tell if Arthur had a death-wish or really was so determined to please Uther that he’d rather blunt a sword than give up. Merlin watched as Arthur hopped out of the path of the rearing creature’s snapping beak and brought his sword up in a graceful, deadly sweep. Yet again, the blade bounced off its scales without leaving so much as a scratch. Merlin grimaced. The truth was probably even simpler; it wasn’t that Arthur was too noble to leave the quest unfinished, it was just that the prince was too stubborn to admit when he was out of his depth. Even if the alternative was death. And this man was supposed to grow up to be the greatest king of Albion?

“Merlin!! Don’t just stand there, you idiot!!” Merlin blinked, focusing back on the fight just in time for Arthur to tackle his skinny body around the midriff, dragging him to the ground. The pair thumped down onto the muddy forest floor, branches and dead leaves crunching beneath them, the creature’s flailing spiked tail whipping over them close enough to rattle Arthur’s chainmail. “Come on,” Arthur yelled again, scrambling back to his feet. “This is no time to be lying down!”

“You’re the one who knocked me down,” Merlin muttered, heaving himself up. Grime now marked his humble clothes, and he could feel wet mud slip down the back of his collar. Great. He hurried to the side of the small clearing, doing his best to slap the worst of the muck off his hands and face. Looking back at the fight it was clear their odds hadn’t improved. Arthur was dodging the thing’s deadly attacks, but just barely; once exhaustion started to creep in and the knight slowed down it would only take a single strike to fell him where he stood. 

As if sensing Arthur’s weakening resolve the creature reared forward, wings buffeting the knight to the ground once more. Arthur rolled desperately to one side as the savage beak snapped down over and over, tearing up clumps of mud as the creature shrieked in fury at its prey’s continued resistance. The prince yelled back, kicking up with his armoured foot in a last-ditch attempt to force the creature back. It worked; the blow took the monster by surprise, not doing any harm but forcing it back a step, just far enough for Arthur to scramble to his feet and retreat to a defensive position against a tree. He gasped for air, struggling to regain his breath. Winded, tiring, and rapidly running out of options-- if he wasn’t able to figure something out soon, both he and his idiot manservant would be nothing more than ugly smears against the treeline.

Merlin stared helplessly from the opposite side of the clearing, willing Arthur to move; there was no telling what would happen to him if the prince died here. If he somehow escaped with his own life intact, Uther would undoubtedly insist on some kind of vengeance on Merlin himself. They’d call it negligence from a servant or some such nonsense. As he watched, the creature reared up once again, spreading its wings and throwing its head back in a shouting caterwaul that echoed around the trees.

They didn’t stand a chance if they kept going at it the way they were at the moment. It was going to take a miracle for them to even leave a scratch. A miracle… Or a touch of magic.

He could practically hear Gaius in his ear even now. “Your magic is not to be used without care, Merlin. The slightest suspicion and you’ll be brought in before you know it. So don’t go giving them reason to be suspicious.” Easy for Gaius to take that attitude when he was safe and secure away in his workshop; confronted with this snarling creature, maybe even Gaius’ will would be tested. Merlin watched as Arthur once again was sent sprawling to the dirt as the creature spun, its tail flailing out and catching the young warrior on the shoulder. Arthur’s sword flew from his grip as blood spattered on the ground; the spiked tip had torn through the leather and chainmail like it was parchment. The creature rushed forward, shrieking in delight as it sensed victory. The sword lay discarded, the prince now defenceless. 

He didn’t have a choice. Barely thinking, Merlin dashed forward, ducking down and sweeping up the sword in a clumsy fumble. It was heavier than it looked; either that or Merlin was even more out of shape than he’d thought. He dodged back to cover and began to mutter a short incantation under his breath. The spell was simple, one he’d used for keeping kitchen knives sharp, but there was no reason it wouldn’t work on the sword. For a fraction of a second his eyes glowed with amber light and the sword gleamed as if caught in a passing ray from the distant sun. 

Merlin turned back to the stricken prince. Arthur had struggled up to his feet and was pressed against a tree, the creature fast approaching. “Arthur,” Merlin yelled. “Catch!”

It wasn’t an elegant throw. The sword spun through the air, inexpertly tossed across the clearing. It arced up, catching the light once more in a flash of brilliance before finally soaring back down into Arthur’s waiting grip. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief; it was fortunate indeed that Arthur had been trained so well or knowing his luck the prince would’ve been lost a hand.

Arthur’s grip tightened around the sword hilt as the monster bared down towards him. A green froth fell from its snapping jaws, its wings raised on both sides to prevent any more escapes. This was it. The prince gritted his teeth. If he didn’t kill this thing now, it would all be over. He redoubled his grip. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle, the sheer rush of fighting in a life or death struggle, but somehow the sword felt lighter now, the edge keener.

But this was no time to ponder his weapon. In a breath, the beast was upon him. He was suddenly in darkness as the wings surrounded him, blotting out the sun. Time seemed to slow as he felt its hot breath on his face, smelt the stench of its foul spittle as it spattered his armour. Using what little space he had, the prince ducked, hearing jaws snap inches above him; spun in place as claws sparked down his breast plate; and in one final blind thrust struck out with his sword. There was a shriek of pain and rage, a new sound. In the darkness, Arthur couldn’t help but smile. This time, somehow, the blade had found its mark.

Watching from the treeline, Merlin saw the glittering tip of a sword piercing out of the beast’s back. It withdrew just as swiftly as it had appeared in another flash of silver.

Light flooded Arthur’s vision once more as the creature staggered away from him. He had struck it clean through the heart. Black blood spilled from the wound, pooling beneath the creature, rotting the grass and flowers where it fell. The sword however remained spotless, the cut as clean as if it had been made by a physician’s razor. A trickle of that viscous black blood streaked from the monster’s mouth as it howled a final drawn-out wail of pain. It staggered back two faltering steps, before at last crumpling to the ground, dead.

Arthur stood panting behind the fallen creature, gleaming sword still gripped tight in his hand. “You see,” he half-panted, half-choked. “I told you I’d win in the end.” He looked his servant up and down. “Not that you were any help.”

“That’s not fair,” Merlin replied defiantly. “If I hadn’t thrown you back your sword you’d be dead right now!”

Arthur grimaced. Much as he was loath to admit it, the fool was right. Still, even if it hurt, an honourable man knew when thanks were appropriate. “…Alright, I concede that without that things might’ve gone a little worse towards the end there. But still. Save messing around with swords for actual knights in future, alright?” He turned towards the trees, where the path back to Camelot awaited them. “Come on. The king will want to know of my success.”

“Yes, my lord.” His success? If only he knew. Biting back his sigh of resignation he followed Arthur into the forest. Overhead, a crow swooped through the morning sun, as peace fell across Albion once more.


End file.
